The Lady Arabella, in each attack, got quite as much as she gave, and, at last, was driven to retreat in a state of headache, which she declared to be chronic; and which, so she assured her daughter Augusta, must prevent her from having any more lengthened conversations with her lord--at any rate for the next three months.
But though the squire may be said to have come off on the whole as victor in these combats, they did not perhaps have, on that account, the less effect upon him.

He knew it was true that he had done much towards ruining his son; and he also could think of no other remedy than matrimony.

It was Frank's doom, pronounced even by the voice of his father, that he must marry money.
And so, Frank went off again to Cambridge, feeling himself, as he went, to be a much lesser man in Greshamsbury estimation than he had been some two months earlier, when his birthday had been celebrated.
Once during his short stay at Greshamsbury he had seen the doctor; but the meeting had been anything but pleasant.

He had been afraid to ask after Mary; and the doctor had been too diffident of himself to speak of her.

They had met casually on the road, and, though each in his heart loved the other, the meeting had been anything but pleasant.
And so Frank went back to Cambridge; and, as he did so, he stoutly resolved that nothing should make him untrue to Mary Thorne.
"Beatrice," said he, on the morning he went away, when she came into his room to superintend his packing--"Beatrice, if she ever talks about me--" "Oh, Frank, my darling Frank, don't think of it--it is madness; she knows it is madness." "Never mind; if she ever talks about me, tell her that the last word I said was, that I would never forget her.